


Culinary Education

by eretria, murron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Food Porn, M/M, Schmoop, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eretria/pseuds/eretria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam knows what's up, Dean proves to be a teacher in the art of culinary decadence and Cas learns to appreciate food - as well as Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culinary Education

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers up to 5.22  
> standard disclaimers apply
> 
> a/n: Written pre-season six when we were still oblivious and spoilerfree.  
> A thousand ~~thanks~~ pies to auburn who's beta was spot on, as usual.

They still kept John’s phone and sometimes one of his old contacts would call. Never hunters, always people he’d helped at one time or another, asking for another favour or acting as a go-between for friends who had spirit trouble.

Or, in this case, poltergeist trouble.

Six months had passed since they pulled the plug on the apocalypse and three  since they decided they’d been a drain on Lisa’s pocket long enough and should probably stop putting ideas into Ben’s head. The kid already talked about leaving school to hunt Wendigos. Lisa was patient, but she wasn’t that patient.

After they left Cicero, things had moved back into the same old rut with them scaring up hunts where they could find them, going where they were needed, and slacking out at Bobby’s in between. Only without the Damocles sword of impeding Armageddon hanging over their heads anymore. With Sam at his side, the open road before him, and the freedom to finally choose their own destination with no thoughts of vengeance or destiny – well, as far as Dean was concerned, this wasn’t such a bad outcome at all. In fact, compared to what they had been through, a few vampires and a pissed-off ghoul or three pretty much equalled the easy life.

That was, until Erin Meyers called and asked them to de-ghost her restaurant.

According to Erin, there’d been signs of hauntings before but only minor stuff: Pots falling from the shelves when no-one was near, the radio coming on spontaneously, or too much salt in the soup (although Erin chalked that up to one of the sous chefs). Erin said she didn’t waste time thinking about these incidents until the evening she launched a big food event, rigging up a ginourmous all-desserts buffet. In the middle of the whole shebang, all hell broke loose. Erin got pelted with the whole nine yards: Wine bottles spinning through the air, forks trying to impale people’s hands, and mirrors exploding into pieces.

After the guests and staff had bailed, Erin locked the restaurant from the outside and called John’s number. Sam and Dean were only two hours out, so they took the job, accepting the keys from Erin’s hands as soon as they arrived.

“Call me when it’s over,” she said, mouth pinched in a ‘I-don’t-like-this-shit’ line.

 _The French Laundry_ was a fancy-schmancy place with cream-colored table cloths and dark wooden furniture. They walked inside, ready for a quick and dirty ghost eviction. Sam was armed with his all-kinds-of-exorcism primer. The book was the first victim; it ended up skewered by a cheese knife. One food fight and a near miss with a flying chandelier later, the restaurant was poltergeist-free while Sam and Dean were still standing.

Dean brushed the remains of an exploded candle from his shoulder and looked around.

They’d wrecked about a third of the restaurant, toppled a table or two, smashed vases and wine glasses.

Dean walked over the shards, looking for his knife. The second poltergeist – because there had been two, not one – had knocked it out of his hand.

The bungee-idea looked better every-time that happened.

Over by the bar, Sam peeled his soaked jacket off his arms and shoulders. When things had started flying, Sam was caught in a shower of Cognac. There’d been flames spouting from the candles next and if Sam hadn’t jumped out of the way, he’d have ended up as a flambé.

“Dude,” Sam complained as Dean joined him while still scanning the floor for his blade. “I've got whipped cream in my hair.”

“I hear it’s a good conditioner.”

“Shut up.”

The buffet desserts had been hurled every which way. Globs of pudding squished under Dean’s boots. He'd stepped in worse things.

“Erin’s going to be pissed,” Sam predicted.

Dean looked at the raspberry stains on his favourite jacket and decided he had every right to be pissed, too.

He was looking under yet another table when he heard the flap of wings and Sam cursing.

"I thought you'd killed Famine." The comment came in a dark voice, while the tone itself was bone-dry.

Dean knocked his head painfully against the table and bit down on an expletive. "Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence again," he sneered from underneath the table. He poked his head up and allowed himself the luxury to just look for a moment. Well, glower.

"Hello, Dean." Cas turned toward him, giving him that half-smile of his, like the bastard was genuinely glad to see him. "It's good to see you." In Sam's direction, he added: "You, too, Sam."

The words came out without thinking. "Wish I could say the same."

"Uh—" Sam started, but Dean just kept going: "Where the hell have you been, anyway? And nice timing there just now, really stellar, waiting to make your big entry until after we've done all the work." He slapped the table, making it jump. "What the hell, Cas?"

Cas' shoulders hunched. "Dean, I—"

"You were busy? No, really. Playing kindergarden cop in heaven not all it's cracked up to be? Are the baby angels trampling on your nerves? Did you finally need some rest from all that important work that took up so much of your precious time you couldn't even pick up a damn phone once in the past six months?"

Just at the edge of Dean's vision, Sam shifted. "Uh, Dean—"

"Shut up when the adults are talking, Sam." Dean crawled up from beneath the table, as he realised that his impending tirade would be a little more effective if he were actually at face level with Cas. He stepped right into Cas' personal space, letting his anger break against Cas' damned, rumpled, familiar coat. "Seriously, Cas. Six months. Not one phone call? What, are the new toys shinier? The old ones too broken to fix, so you decided to toss 'em? Six months. _Six_. Did you even once—"

A giant shadow fell on Dean when Sam stepped in front of a lamp, between Dean and Cas. "Dude," he said. "Your Id is showing. You might wanna shut up."

"I—" Dean raised his hand, index finger pointing at Sam, ready to poke a hole in that stupid giant chest of his. Sam just raised an eyebrow. A glob of whipped cream rose along with it. Dean felt the side of his mouth twitch at the sight and forgot what he'd been about to say. Sam frowned at him, and the glob of cream moved down, like a forgotten snowball that hadn't got the memo about spring being in town. Pretty much like the rest of the snowballs in Sam's hair.

"What?" Sam asked and the glob on his eyebrow wobbled. Tilted. Slipped.

When Dean finally stopped laughing, Sam's initial bitch face had eased into a wry grin and he was licking cream off his thumb. Cas was looking at Dean as though he'd lost his mind for good, which just sent Dean into a new fit of hysterics.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Sam said wryly before running his hand through his hair, retrieving a palm-full of whipped cream and reaching for Dean’s shoulder.

Dean blocked his wrist before Sam could touch him. “Dude,” he complained. “Gross.”

“Yeah?” Sam griped. “You think?” He flicked the cream toward Dean’s face and Dean dived out of the way, knocking into the table and knocking off the last glass standing. Holding onto the edge of the table, he felt the laughter bubbling up again. Seriously? What the hell?

“Is he all right?” Cas wanted to know, his head tilted slightly to the right.

“Just soft in the head, but that’s nothing new,” Sam supplied. “Cas, did you come by for a reason? Not that it’s not _good_ to see you."

“There is a reason,” Cas admitted, his gaze moving from Dean and across the room with that same perplexed fascination. “We have a problem with Chuck. It appears that after Michael followed Lucifer, he claims emancipation from heaven. He has been writing without the guidance from heaven and some… " Cas trailed off, a pained look crossing his face, "unfortunate truths have already been revealed. He has a talk with his publisher due. I may need your help to stop further... revelations.”

“Tonight?” Sam asked and Dean could hear the resignation in his brother’s voice.

“I think it can wait until tomorrow. If he doesn't cooperate, we can torch the manuscript in the morning.”

"Torch the—" Dean started, but shrugged. What the hell. He'd never been very fond of the books, anyway, and Chuck really needed to get a new subject.

“Good,” Sam sighed before adding, “Hey, Dean, I think I found your knife.” Sam crouched to lift a toppled chair out of the way and picked up Dean’s blade. He tossed Dean the knife, saying, “Maybe you should get glasses, old man.”

“Dumbass luck,” Dean muttered, snapping the knife back into its sheath.

“Hey, Cas, you want to stick around for a bit?” Sam asked as he walked over to the wall to unskewer his book. “Grab a beer? If you still drink those?”

“I could do that,” Cas agreed, moving to stand beside Dean. He looked at Dean in a way that made it impossible not to look back.

“I am sorry I did not pick up the phone,” Cas told him in such a serious tone Dean couldn’t find the heart to chew him out anymore. If he was honest, he didn’t know why he’d been so angry in the first place. Maybe he just didn’t react well to people disappearing for months at a time.

Thinking about it, yeah, that might have been a reason.

Realising that Cas was waiting for an answer of some kind, Dean shook his head. "Six months."

A look of exasperated resignation crossed Cas' face. "Dean, we may have Thomas Alva and Nicola up there, but I invite you to find a power outlet in heaven. After all those centuries, they're still bickering. And the archangels forbid them to build powerplants."

"You mean to tell me your batteries were dead?"

"Yes, Dean, that's exactly what I mean."

Man, that was just— "So, what, the dog ate your homework, too? You put it in a safe and forgot the combination? You—"

Something creamy suddenly stopped his flow of word. "Dude," Sam said, shoving the cream puff into Dean's mouth, "just stop talking." The traitor turned to Cas and told him, "He's really glad to see you, in case that got lost in translation."

Dean rolled his eyes and chewed moodily on his cream puff. "I ot."

"Pardon?"

Dean swallowed and glared first at Sam, then at Cas. So maybe he had. Maybe he'd be looking up every time some guy in a trenchcoat walked past him. But damned if he would admit it. "Did not."

"Did."

"Did not."

"Did."

"Did not.

"Di—"

"Sammy!"

Cas cleared his throat. "If I shove cream puffs into both your mouths, will that make you shut up?"

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Dean grumbled, licking sugar from the corner of his mouth. If he forgot about Sam shoving the damn thing into his mouth, Dean had to admit the cream puff was tasty. Swallowing sweet vanilla cream, Dean looked past Sam’s shoulder at the wasted buffet table.

“Hey Sam,” he asked. “Think Erin would mind if we cleaned up before we go?”

“What?” Sam croaked in surprise, then followed Dean’s gaze and rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

“Stuff’s going to waste anyway,” Dean argued. “And I bet they have some fine booze laid on ice somewhere.” Dean grinned, warming to his idea. “What do you say little brother? Wanna find out how the other half wines and dines?”

“Dean—“

“Oh, come _on_ , don’t give me that… ” _goodie two-shoes_ _crap,_ Dean meant to say but the rest of the sentence dried up in his mouth as he caught sight of Cas. Apparently bored by the Sam’n’Dean bicker-parade, Cas had walked over to the buffet table and stopped to inspect the remainder of a chocolate pudding. As Dean watched, Cas dipped his finger into the dessert and licked the chocolate clean off his fingertip.

His heart did a lazy somersault in his chest, so it took Dean a second to wheel his attention back to Sam. Who looked at him with brows raised so high, they almost vanished into his floppy hair.

“What?” Dean snapped.

“Nothing,” Sam replied, dragging out the word.

“Cas, you want to help me out here?” Dean demanded, trying to switch the topic – not that he knew what the topic was, exactly, but Sam had this _look_. Like he knew something Dean didn’t and might drop a bombshell any second. Which, no, just. No.

Cas joined them, thankfully leaving the chocolate dish behind.

“Tell Mr. Stick-up-his-ass we need to have some fun once in a while,” Dean ordered.

“Weren’t we about to get drinks?” Cas asked, looking at Sam and getting a shrug.

“Yeah, but why wander if we have an all-you-can-eat right here?” Dean said before turning back to Sam. “Look at it, Sam, there’s a goddamn _parfait_ on that table. Tomorrow we’re going back to microwaved mac-n-cheese; don’t tell me you dig that.”

Sam tried to glower, but Dean could see the corners of his mouth twitch. “Man. Cut the speech.”

“We saved the world. We deserve a treat. And I already took a pass on the virgins.”

“I’m serious. Stuff it.”

“Why is this special?” Cas wanted to know. “It’s just food.”

“Dude,” Dean said, staring. “You’re kidding, right?”

Cas wrinkled his forehead. "Why would I?"

" _It's just food_?" Dean echoed. "Sam, you heard what I heard, right?"

"Pretty much."

"Dean, what—"

"Cas, did God give you a brain wash when he put you back together?" Actually, Dean thought, that would explain a lot, but that was neither here nor there right now. He had more pressing things to worry about. "Dude, food!"

"Is required for humans, yes."

"See?"

"You forget that I am not—"

Dean brought up his hand sharply, silencing what Cas had inevitably been about to say. "Cas, don't." Because, really, he didn't need that reminder. "Just… just try, okay? You used to like burgers, right?"

Cas went slightly green around the nose before he answered: "I am glad you are using the past tense."

Dean bit back on a grin. "A few hundred too many of a good thing and he gives up already. Heaven made you soft. Wuss."

Cas leaned back against the counter and folded his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow.

"You know, much as it pains me to admit it, but Dean's right," Sam said, with that damn half-smile still on his face. "You should try some more of that chocolate pudding, Cas." Sam happily ignored the totally stealthy, very non-obvious death-ray glare Dean gave him. "I think I saw some mousse over there, too," he continued. "And, hey, you haven't lived until you've had a pomegranate the right way."

Dean's stomach dropped all the way to the bottom of the sea. No. Oh, no.

Cas angled his body toward Sam, radiating – oh, fuck, no, Sammy - mild curiosity. "And what would be the right way to eat this fruit?"

Sam winked at him. "Ask my brother. He's a specialist."

Bloodshed. Dean breathed deep and closed his eyes. There would be bloodshed. With whipped cream on top.

"I will keep that in mind, thank you, Sam," Cas answered gravely.

Sam shifted his soaked jacket and pocketed his book. "Well, kids, I don't want to be a party-pooper, but I have whipped cream and cocoa powder in places they don't belong," Sam itched his ear to demonstrate and a small cloud of cocoa sank to the ground, "which, yeah, not so much fun to sit around in. I guess I'll leave you to it and go to take the world's longest shower." Sam turned a winning smile at Cas. "You'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, right, Cas?"

Dean's hands twitched. He wondered if Cas would stop him if he throttled Sam now. "Make sure you don't curdle over night," he said with a nasty grin instead.

Sam flipped him off and made for the exit, soaked jacket and mangled book clamped under his arm. “I’m taking the car,” he called as he opened the door. “Cas can drop you off before you turn into a pumpkin.”

“Don’t you get any of that cream on her seats,” Dean hollered to Sam’s retreating back.

“Bite me,” Sam piped back before closing the door firmly behind him.

 

“That was subtle,” Dean muttered.

 

“I think Sam left so we could rebond,” Cas remarked and he actually sounded pissed. Like he didn’t need that human, emotional mire crap, but then again – who did? “You seem to take issue with my return to Heaven.”

“Yes, thank you,” Dean snapped, trying to salvage something edible from the buffet mess. “You know, between the two of you… ” He let the sentence trail off and shook his head. “Can we move on before we get to braiding each other’s hair?”

 

“Gladly,” Cas agreed and lifted a plate from the rucked-up table cloth. It fell down in shards as soon as he picked it up.

“That’s no good,” Dean judged, gaze sweeping over the restaurant, which looked a lot like a battlefield. Most of food had been ruined, either been hurled at the walls or trampled underfoot. “Come on. We’ll have a look at the kitchen. I don’t think Stretch and Stinkie plowed through there.”

Cas dropped the plate and followed, stepping around the smashed chandelier.

 

The _French Laundry’s_ kitchen wasn’t big, but it was clean. Spotless, even. Every chrome surface gleamed, while pots and pans and utensils hung in neat rows from stainless steel racks. The only sign that there had been a buffet going on out in the dining room were the carefully lined up plates with replenishments: blueberry tartlets, a chocolate cake with some fancy decorations on top, and a huge bowl full of strawberries.

 

Cas was drawn to the display but Dean homed in on the two commercial-sized fridges. He opened the first one, peered inside, and muttered, “Yahtzee.”

 

Erin had certainly brought out the big guns. On his first survey, Dean identified a bowl with whipped cream, a strawberry trifle and half a dozen porcelain cups filled with white mousse. All of that paled, however, when he discovered the pies seated on the bottom shelves. There were seven in total, one of them looking distinctly like key lime with a generous whisk of meringue on top.

 _No better place to start_ , Dean thought, grinning from ear to ear. “Cas, get over here,” he called, pulling the pie from the shelf and placing it on the counter.

“Would you look at _that_ ,” Dean said, realizing he almost cooed but he didn’t care. That was one damn fine specimen of pie. The tips of the meringue were a soft golden brown and the crust looked like it would crumble between your fingertips.

“It’s a pie,” Cas announced matter-of-factly as he reached the counter.

“You have no idea how right you are,” Dean agreed and selected a knife from a knife block close at hand. He cut slowly into the pie, the blade sinking through the meringue and lime filling with a sigh.

 

“Get some plates, 'kay?” Dean asked, with his gaze still fixed on the pie. He wasn't even going to deny that his mouth was watering. He ate pie whenever possible, but the good stuff, the really good stuff? Needed to be savoured. Adored. Worshipped. Possibly cuddled. And a Winchester never, ever cuddled if there was any way humanly possible to avoid it. Erin's pies, from what he remembered Dad telling him, were outstanding. Definitely worth losing some cool over.

The clinking of plates brought him back from his happy place and he noticed that he had started to lovingly pat the crust of the pie. Cas watched him with his head slightly tilted, like he was observing a very peculiar insect.

Clearing his throat, Dean set the knife aside. "Never get between a man and his pie," he said by way of explanation.

Cas raised his eyebrows. "I will keep that in mind, thank you."

"You know what else we'll need?"

"No?"

"Coffee. A good slice of pie should never be left all alone. It's just not the same without the company of a good strong cup of coffee. It's like—" Dean fished for the right analogy, "Abbott and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, shoes and socks, a hammer and nails, movies and popcorn… " Dean trailed off when he noticed Cas' curious expression had smoothed into something like understanding. "What?"

"Me and you," Cas added quietly to the list, then set the plates that were still in his hands on the counter, searching for the precise centre of it.

The room started to do an imaginary slow sideways tilt for a moment before Dean caught a hold of himself. "Yeah. Uhm." _Eloquent. Really eloquent, Winchester._ Dean busied himself with the coffee maker so he wouldn't have to meet Cas' gaze now. ' _What the fuck, Cas?'_ he wanted to yell. ' _You don't get to come back and just_ say _stuff like that. Like it's normal.'_

It was a good thing the coffee maker was one of the more complicated and high-end ones where Dean had to actually pay attention and didn't have time to think about what Cas had said much more. Cas probably hadn't mean it like that, anyway.

When Dean turned around after some suspicious quiet, he almost dropped the mugs and their steaming content. "Cas!" He barely managed to set the mugs on the counter before he pulled the pie away from Cas in horror. The poor, mutilated pie. Which had several distinctly finger-shaped holes in the meringue.

"It has a filling," Cas announced, looking at his index finger that was smeared with flecks of meringue and had a greenish dollop balancing on the tip.

Dean rested the back of his hand against his forehead. "Dude," he said, slowly, faintly, _in pain_ , "you're familiar with the concept of blasphemy, right?"

Cas eyed his index finger. "Irreverence toward holy personages, religious artefacts, customs, and beliefs." He looked up at Dean. "Remembering the entire last year, I would say that I'm vaguely familiar with it."

Ouch. "Sarcasm isn't good for your complexion, Cas."

He reached over and moved the pie out of Cas’ reach, wincing at the mutilated meringue. With a sigh, he lifted a piece onto a plate, picked up a fork and held both out to Cas.

“Now you do this proper,” Dean told Cas. “Or I swear by your dear and fluffy Lord, I’ll slap your fingers.”

Cas took the plate and fork with a ‘bite me’ face. The way he eyed the slice of pie clearly telegraphed he had no idea what the fuss was all about. Dean got himself a slice and waited.

Cas lifted a bit of pie on his fork, sniffed, tasted and went still. His hand remained frozen, the fork in his mouth and Dean could have sworn Cas’ eyes lost all focus. Two beats of silence later, Cas swallowed and his cheeks _flushed_.

Dean stared at him in wonderment, both amused and startled by Cas’ reaction. “Good, huh?” he asked, taking a bite himself and, _man_ , this should be illegal. The crust fell to crumbs on his tongue, the filling flooded his mouth with tart goodness and the meringue fucking melted. “Damn,” he muttered.

Cradling the plate with one hand, Cas dug his fork reverently into his pie.

“Tell me again this is ‘just food’,” Dean demanded, licking the filling off his fork. Cas didn’t answer.

Taking another bite, Dean savoured the taste of real limes instead of lime juice and was suffused with the feeling that the world had finally done right by him. He leaned against the counter, reached back for his cup of coffee and drank it black to set off the tart-and-honey taste of the pie. Sam always said he exaggerated his pie-love but this wasn’t about drama, brother. This was about peace.

“Cas, what about your coff—“ Dean started but trailed off as he caught sight of Cas’ empty plate. So much for slow fork-work: Cas had breathed that one right in.

“Dude, hold your horses,” Dean advised. “There’s other good stuff where that came from.”

“I would be fine with the pie,” Cas ventured.

“I bet you would,” Dean agreed. “But trust me; you’re in for a tour. And let’s have some chairs in here. We won’t be leaving for a while.”

Placing his plate on the counter, Dean slipped out of his jacket because if he was going to dig into dessert heaven, he would be comfortable. To his surprise, Cas mimicked him, taking off the trench-coat and putting it neatly on the counter.

“In case we find any pomegranates,” Cas explained and Dean nearly choked on his own breath.

“Did you read Sam’s mind?” he wanted to know and Cas admitted, “A little.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean laughed and drained the rest of his coffee.

They went back to the restaurant to pick up a pair of bar stools and lug them back into the kitchen. Dean couldn’t help but notice how easily Cas lifted the iron chair that seemed to weigh a ton to Dean.

Once they were back at the counter, Cas poured them a second round of coffee while Dean went through the fridge.

“Let’s see....”

There was more pie. Which, while always good, was something Cas had tried already.  That left Dean with the trifle, the mousse, something that looked like tall, dense chocolate cake and a glass jug of what appeared to be a thick chocolate sauce. _Awesome._

Too bad the sauce was almost solid from being in the fridge. Of course, a Winchester was nothing of not resourceful. After a bit of searching, he found a microwave and set the jug inside. "Get the cake and cut us two slices," he called over his shoulder while he watched the chocolate sauce liquefy. Just enough to get it slightly warm, not boiling. Dean'd had an over-heated chocolate sauce at a diner in Kentucky once and still remembered the blisters on his palate years later.

The microwave gave a five soft _plings_ and Dean opened it, taking the jug out and cupping his hands around it. Warm, but not hot. He stuck his pinkie into the dark sauce to test the temperature more accurately. Which was the only reason, really. Not the wish to smell the rich chocolate or taste it before he poured it over the cake.

Dean lifted his pinkie to his mouth and closed his lips around it. The warm chocolate coated his tongue, the flavour not a burst but a slow, sensual slide of richness. Dean closed his eyes and hummed. Damn, this was going to be good. Having finished his private moment with the chocolate sauce, twirling his tongue around the finger to get the last of it from under the fingernail, Dean opened his eyes again — and caught Cas with his hand frozen on the knife that was half-way through slicing the cake. Looking at Dean. Gaze zeroed in on Dean's finger between his lips. Intense.

Dean removed his finger with a wet plop. Swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. "Just sampling," he said, stupidly, simply because he needed to say _something_ to distract himself from the sudden heat climbing up in his cheeks.

Cas gaze flickered from his mouth to his finger, then to the chocolate sauce. "This is the traditional method of sampling?"

Dean swallowed again. "One of them, yeah."

"In that case," Cas said, taking the jug from Dean's hand and setting it on the counter. "I would like to honour tradition." And stuck both index and middle finger into the jug, coating them way past the third digit before slowly licking first one, then the other finger clean.

Dean watched, feeling like someone had just wiped out every thought left in his brain. “Cas?” he asked and cleared his throat.

“What?” Cas wanted to know, sucking at his lower lip to get an errant drop of chocolate.

Transfixed by Cas’ mouth, Dean weighed all the things he could say. There was something going on here, his Id or whatever, and Dean might be slow on the uptake sometimes but he recognised what Cas' chocolate porn did to him. Hard to miss, this sudden urge to lick warm chocolate off Cas’ mouth.

But should he _talk_ about that? Nah.

“Nothing,” Dean said out loud. “You know what’s good too?” He reached over the counter for the bowl of strawberries, picked one from the heap and dipped it into the chocolate sauce tip first. For a moment he considered offering the strawberry up to Cas but at the last minute, bit into it himself.

Cas selected a strawberry of his own, turned it between his fingers before scooping up warm chocolate. When he bit off the chocolate coated tip, he smiled and Dean grinned back.

“Getting a hang of it, huh?”

Cas nodded. “What else?” he demanded. When he pulled another strawberry from the jug, a splotch of chocolate landed on his white sleeve. Cas looked at it but didn’t seem to mind much, eating his strawberry instead.

Dean leaned back and opened the fridge door, pulling out the trifle: more strawberries, whipped cream, pound cake and cream cheese layered into a wine glass.

“This look good?” he asked and passed it over to Cas. Cas lifted the glass into the light before picking up the pie fork. Dean watched him scoop up cream and cake and fruit, hunching over the glass so he could catch the fork with his mouth.

“It’s good,” he affirmed, offering the glass to Dean but Dean shook his head.

“You go on.” His mind still orbited around the chocolate on Cas’ fingers.

Opening the fridge yet again, Dean retrieved the chocolate mud cake, placed it on the counter and poured warm chocolate sauce all over it. Very aware that Cas was watching him, Dean used his fork to break off a piece of soaked cake and guide it to his mouth.

It was messy and he cupped his free hand under the fork to catch the chocolate should it drip. It didn’t, but when he’d swallowed the cake, he knew a few crumbs had caught at the corner of his mouth. He lifted his hand to wipe them off when he caught Cas’ stare again.

Dean froze in mid movement, shocked by Cas’ unabashed attention. His gaze was so damned focused, it sent another rush of heat right down to Dean’s cock. Dean bit the inside of his lip, body tensing in surprise. Cas seemed to notice, gaze snapping up to meet Dean’s.

Dean could play this off but by now he was curious to see how far Cas would go.

Dean lowered his hand and Cas reached out at the same time, using his thumb to spread chocolate crumbs along Dean’s lower lip suggestively instead of wiping them away.

Dean swallowed convulsively and fought the urge to close his eyes at the rush of sensations: Sweet chocolate on his tongue, the smell of vanilla and cocoa in his nose, the rough pad of Cas' thumb against his bottom lip. He could have ignored the staring and his own weird reactions to Cas licking his fingers earlier. He couldn't ignore this.

But he realised, six months after preventing Armageddon, after getting Sam back and back to the life he knew, a life that would never be categorised as normal but which he loved, damn it… he didn't want to ignore this new development. Not when it got him Cas close enough that Dean could feel warm,  strawberry-scented breath on his face.

On the second swipe of Cas' thumb against his lower lip, Dean parted his lips. Slow. Just a fraction. He watched Cas' pupils dilate. Cas wasn't looking Dean in the eyes at all this time, his gaze fastened on Dean's lips, lost in the sensation, not noticing the stretch of time or his surroundings. All his attention was on Dean's lips. One more swipe of the thumb and the crumbs were falling apart, just skin against skin now. Cas pressed in carefully, spreading the rest of the chocolate sauce clinging to the inside of Dean's lips when he pulled back. It was sticky, a spread of moisture that rapidly cooled when Cas' quickening breath reached it. Chocolate and strawberries and heat and Cas and, suddenly, Dean couldn't think any longer. Breathing out through his nose, Dean let his tongue flicker against Cas' thumb, a barely-there greeting that had Dean tasting chocolate and salt.

Cas' gaze snapped up and found Dean's, Cas' pupils blown wide, before snatching his hand back. He retreated a step and looked at his thumb for several seconds as though it had been acting independently. Cas' breath came faster than before. Something cold and uneasy spread through Dean at Cas' sudden retreat. This would be the moment to tuck tail and run, if Cas decided that this had all just been a fluke. Move on, nothing to see here, never mind, see you on the flip side.

Or this could be the moment for something hot and feral to claw up inside of him, for heat to pool in his stomach as Cas shook off his stupor, looked Dean in the eyes, and brought his thumb up to his own lips. Darted his tongue out and licked the spot Dean had touched.

“Okay, then,” Dean murmured and slid off his chair. He knew he had to move now before he could think it over. Cas watched him but Dean didn’t give him time to get his feet on the ground, just walked right into his personal space, hip brushing Cas’ knee.

 

Taking a hold of Cas’ collar, Dean waited for a signal to stop and when none came, leaned closer. “That wasn’t exactly the plan,” he told Cas, feeling his face flush with anticipation or panic, he couldn’t tell which.

 

“I know,” Cas said and met him half-way, fitting his mouth against Dean’s as if he knew how. And if Dean had thought Cas would be hesitant, he was very much mistaken.

Maybe it was Cas’ curiosity. Maybe it was his complete and utter failure to understand why this should be awkward, but Cas took to this like a duck to water. He kissed Dean slow, giving him the same rapt, single-minded attention that he’d given the food. Dean got a little lost there, opening his mouth to Cas’ tongue, but when Cas tried to touch his face, Dean shoved at his hand and broke the kiss.

Lingering inches from Cas’ mouth, he tried to get control back over his breathing, over the urge to jump headlong into this, consequences be damned.

“You taste good,” Cas told him, smiled a little and ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, catching whatever taste Dean had left there.

Jesus.

“You’re one kinky son of a bitch, you know that?” Dean rasped, close enough to breathe Cas’ breath and that strawberry smell that was driving him crazy. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d reached up to cup the nape of Cas’ neck, thumb stroking Cas’ short hair. He’d never done this with a guy, not the kissing part anyway, and he should probably touch Cas differently. Somehow he had the idea it should be less, well, tender.

 

Maybe Cas’ caught this thought too because the look he shot Dean was definitely amused. _Screw that_ , Dean thought, figuring he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamp. Cas was an angel, it wasn’t like there would be a manual. Not that Dean cared much for guidelines anyway.

Keeping his hold on Cas’ nape, Dean dipped two fingers into the chocolate, thought of spreading it on Cas’ lips, then decided to get creative. He drew a warm, velvety streak along Cas’ jaw and followed it with his mouth, stubble rasping under his lips and the stroke of his tongue.

He could feel Cas’ breath hitch, his hand coming up to twist in Dean’s sleeve. Dean smiled against Cas’ jaw, savouring the signals of Cas losing it. Then Cas caught his wrist, tugged Dean’s chocolate-coated fingers to his mouth and Dean moaned even before Cas’ lips found his sticky skin. The moment Cas sucked at his fingertip, the floor capsized under his feet.

Clutching the front of Cas’ shirt, Dean pulled Cas off his chair and Cas stumbled into him, bumping Dean’s back into the counter. Dean felt his elbow connect with something, heard the clutter of glass on steel but couldn’t care less. Not when Cas had pinned him against the counter, and maybe he was distracted by Cas' thigh between his legs, but when Cas framed his face in his hands this time, Dean let him.

Cock hard enough to hurt by now, Dean rubbed his groin against Cas’ thigh and Cas pushed back, leaving Dean nowhere to go even as Cas traced Dean’s cheekbone with his thumb so damn carefully. Too soft, too fast, too goddamn good.

Dean hooked his foot behind Cas’ ankle, twisting to get better friction. “Come on,” he urged, putting a hand on Cas’ waist and guiding him so Cas could rock into Dean’s hip. Cas dropped his hands to the counter, clutching the edge, his eyes falling shut.

“Good, huh?” Dean repeated, only this time he’d barely enough breath to push out the words.

He was unbuttoning Cas shirt, fingers tripping over themselves, when Dean heard the noise outside the kitchen.

Keys. Shit. Keys being turned in a lock. A door squeaking open.

Dean froze with his fingers on the third button, the heel of his right hand brushing Cas' nipple. Cas groaned and rocked into Dean again, the movement making the counter shudder and the forks clink against the plates.

"Oh my God," a female voice uttered.

In a whirlwind of motions Dean hadn't really thought himself capable of, he stilled Cas' hips and put a finger to his own lips, trying to silence him. "Erin!" he whispered. "The owner!"

Dean heard the sound of footsteps on shards, of something being lifted and falling to the ground with a dull thud and splash. "I'm going to kill them." Erin's voice was flat and intent. The footsteps neared the kitchen door next.

Dean's heart was thumping somewhere outside his chest, arousal and panic proving to be an unpleasant blend. He wondered for a moment if they should just take the chance and face Erin, but realised what a pair they'd make – Cas' shirt unbuttoned, chocolate sauce on his chin and lips, the desserts standing out half-eaten, Dean with the mother of all boners… if Erin was ready to kill Sam and him now, she'd bring Dean back to kill him again for making out with Cas in her kitchen.

Not fancying the idea of a wrathful restaurant owner discovering him with his hand in the angelic cookie jar, Dean twisted around, one hand slipping into the whipped cream as he tried to support the movement, tipping it over and sending it crashing to the ground. He cursed under his breath, pulled Cas with him behind the counter, pushed Cas down, and crouched in front of him, still pressing his left hand against Cas' shoulder. The other, cream-smeared, dangled limp at his side. Cream slowly dripped from his fingertips. He resisted the urge to wipe it off. Any sound might give them away now.

The kitchen door flew open with a bang. "Damn you, Sam Winchester, if you lied about that poltergeist being gone, I will fry your behind for the next dinner party. And use your brother's for stew."

Dean flinched and stopped breathing. Cas, in the meantime, didn't seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. "I don't think that's—" Cas started but the sound of his voice thankfully got lost in the rapid-fire staccato of another string of Erin's curses. Dean didn't think anymore after that, just clamped his right hand over Cas' mouth and gave him a warning look. Cream squelched out from between Dean's fingers. Cas blinked. Then, slowly, his eyes widened.

Oh, fuck. That wasn't panic Dean read there.

It was _curiosity_.

"Skin his ass. Deep fry it. Then I'll going to serve it with mint sauce."

Cas' chin went up. His breath disturbed a bit of cream on the back of Dean's hand before his gaze turned speculative.

Dean swallowed hard and met Cas' gaze, pleading wordlessly. _'Don't. Cas. Don't. Do me a favour and don't—'_

Of course, Cas didn't listen. Of course, he touched his tongue to the palm of Dean's hand to lick at the cream there. Dean screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip hard enough to taste blood as the sensation of Cas' tongue flickering against his palm shot a sharp hot surge straight to his cock. _Fuck_.

Dean tried to breathe as quietly as possible. He was going to kill the bastard.

A new wet and warm touch against his palm had Dean's knees trembling. He dug his palm into Cas' shoulder hard enough to break the damn collarbone, but Cas just hummed against Dean's hand. The wide-eyed innocence was just a front, of that Dean was suddenly sure. Cas knew exactly what he was doing, and, if he didn't and this just seemed like a good idea at the time, then Dean would still kill him. Creatively.

"The damn thing poked holes in my pie!" Erin was hollering above their heads. "As though smashing everything in the guest room wasn't enough?"

Dean felt her pain and opened his eyes again and to raise an eyebrow at Cas.

Cas shrugged and kept looking Dean straight in the eyes as he licked at Dean's hand again. Cas' eyes were fucking huge, the focus so intently on Dean that he was sure Cas didn't even hear Erin. Cas didn't move his hands, didn't try anything else. Just kept licking the cream off Dean's hand as though it was the most normal frigging thing in the world to do while above you, a pissed off chef spouted death-threats.

Dean's hand trembled. The sound of Erin's voice slowly drowned in the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. Slowly but surely, the insistent movements of Cas' tongue were eroding Dean's reserve. He began to think of creative ways to get back at Cas. By licking cream off his eyebrow. Chocolate off the jut of his hip. Sorbet off his sternum, a cold trail to Cas' aureola.

His thumb brushed Cas' neck, gliding up and down the jugular. Dean imagined spreading orange liqueur there, waiting until it warmed, and licking the sticky liquid off heated skin, pulse thrumming against his tongue. It was getting hard to swallow, much less fight the groan climbing up in his throat.

His hand slipped from Cas' mouth, dropped to Cas' other shoulder and clutched at him through the dress shirt. Dean thought he heard Erin leave the kitchen, but couldn't be sure. He hardly cared anymore. Cas' hand had found Dean's waist, his fingers slipping under the hem of Dean's shirt, stroking the skin there, while his thumb working under the waistband of his jeans.

Dean breathed through his nose, bit the inside of his lip, but when Erin cursed loudly just outside the kitchen door and the heel of Cas' hand brushed the bulge in his denims, the moan he'd been suppressing spilled, slipping from his lips. Cas must have expected it, for he pressed his hand smoothly against Dean's mouth and muffled most of the noise.

Straining to keep quiet, Dean banged his head into the counter and Cas followed, leaning his forehead against Dean's. Up this close, Dean could feel the warmth radiating off Cas' face. Cas loosened the grip on his hand and traced Dean's mouth with two fingertips instead, parting his lips gently with his thumb.

Desperate for some pressure in the right place, Dean reached for his crotch, but stopped and clenched his fist on his thigh instead. He tried to listen for Erin rumbling around the restaurant, but couldn't hear anything.

"She's gone," Cas whispered into his ear and Dean had had about enough of this, pushed Cas' hand from his mouth and kissed him instead, hard this time.

This kiss wasn't slow. It was demanding and messy and hungry; Dean licked into Cas' mouth, wanting to catch every last bit of that damn cream, trying to find out how it tasted on Cas' tongue. He needed to touch the skin that he had only ever saw draped in too many layers of clothing. Cas gave back as good as he got, hands clutching at Dean's waist, fingers roughly digging into his sides. That was going to leave bruises and Dean's head swam with the exhilaration of just not caring. Not caring where and who they were, because right now, they were just two guys with a fucking boat-load of pent-up sexual tension that needed to go somewhere. Finally. He pushed his hands under Cas' suit jacket just as Cas pushed at his shirt, creating an awkward tangle that went nowhere, not while they were still joined at the lips. Dean found himself reluctant to get away from the wet heat of that mouth and the way Cas' sucked at his tongue hard enough to make his brain go fuzzy and even more blood rush to his dick.

Cas shifted though, trying to buck up against Dean, and Dean lost his footing in the weird crouching position he was in. He overbalanced, his mouth slipped from Cas' and he banged his head against the counter with a resounding thud.

"Ow, fuck, _ow_."

His head rang and pain centred right on his forehead. Sam would never stop laughing if he ended up with a bruise there. Very sexy, really. He rested his forehead back against the cool metal counter with an explosive sigh.

"Are you all right?" Cas asked. His voice was even lower than usual, husky and unsteady.

Dean gave a short laugh. "This never happens in porn."

Cas just looked at him as though Dean had hit his head a lot harder than he'd thought. "If you injured yourself badly, I could help."

Cas said it earnestly, raising his hand. All the while there was still chocolate on his jaw. Cream in the corner of his mouth. His kiss-swollen mouth. Dean fought a groan and screwed his eyes shut. "Keep the angel mojo for something bigger. Just get some ice from the freezer, it should do the trick."

Cas' warmth moved away from him in a rustle of clothes. Dean heard the opening of the freezer, the rattling of the ice cube tray. Then Cas was back in a wave of scent – warm skin and chocolate. He reached for Dean's chin, tipping his head up carefully. Cas' thumb lingered just below Dean's lower lip, gliding back and forth in tiny, hypnotic motions. Something cold pressed against Dean's forehead, just one pinpoint of ice against his skin. Dean groaned in gratitude.

Trust Cas' to take the ice suggestion literally and just get one icecube instead of filling a towel with cubes and pressing it to Dean's forehead, but it didn't really matter. Ice was ice and the bruise wasn't that big, just painful. Cas rubbed the icecube back and forth in the same tiny motions as his thumb moved underneath Dean's lower lip. Dean felt the icecube melt as the pain drained away, felt small rivulets of water trickling into his eyebrow and down the side of his nose, over his lips. The strawberry scent of Cas' breath was back and Dean couldn't help but open his eyes.

Cas was close and looking at him with such rapt concentration, such intent on his face, that Dean's mouth went suddenly bone-dry. He'd seen that look before, just never from quite this close. Never with the knowledge of having had his tongue down Cas' throat just minutes before. With the knowledge of how Cas would taste like if Dean bridged the gap between them and just… kissed him again. Dean wanted to know how far that intent would go. His cock twitched in appreciation of the thought and he darted his tongue out, licking at the water that had collected in the corner of his mouth. More water trickled from the icecube.

Cas' gaze followed the movement of Dean's tongue before following the path of a new droplet of water in reverse, back up to Dean's eyes. Cas licked his lips. The hand on Dean's chin slipped, landing on his chest. Hunger was suddenly prominent in Cas' gaze and, fuck, this was taking too long.

Dean slipped to his knees and grabbed the lapels of Cas' suit jacket, yanked and pulled Cas' mouth back against his, meeting him for a rough and impatient kiss. The icecube slipped, forgotten. Cas flailed for a moment at the sudden contact, but steadied himself by sliding back enough to rest against the fridge door. Dean followed without thinking. He sucked at Cas' tongue, getting high on the choked noises Cas made, on the hands grabbing his sides and pulling him closer and landing on the already tender bruises Cas had left earlier, and, yes, this was what he had expected it to be like: Fast, hard and rewarding.

When he was finally able to stop kissing Cas, Dean tore at Cas' tie and shirt, impatiently pushing at the suit jacket to get to the skin just waiting for him, waiting to be touched. Tasted. "A little help, here?" he growled when the tie refused to cooperate.

Peering down at his chest, Cas tried to work loose the tie knot and when that didn’t work, pulled the looped tie up over his head, ruffling his hair even more. Dean used the moment to slip out of his shirt, his bare shoulder brushing the steel counter. He hadn’t even dropped the shirt when Cas reached out for him.

Palm still wet and cold from the ice-cube, Cas stroked his hand up Dean’s chest to the place where the amulet had been all those years. Dean felt his heart clench but didn’t slow, didn’t even look up, concentrating on the buttons of Cas’ shirt instead. He’d got down to the last one when Cas leaned forward and started kissing the side of Dean’s throat. Dean let out a grunt, pulling Cas shirt apart and _finally_ getting his hands on Cas’ skin.

While Cas nosed the hollow beneath his ear, Dean reached up and fumbled blindly on the counter until his hand closed around the glass jug. Cas stopped to see what Dean was doing and his eyes widened as Dean poured chocolate onto his collarbone, the dark sauce sliding down his chest and toward his belly.

Putting the jug on the floor, Dean used his other hand to push Cas back until he had him lying on the floor-tiles. Gaze fixed on the trail of chocolate next to Cas’ bellybutton, Dean knelt between Cas’ legs, bowed forward and started licking.

Cas hummed and gasped, his hands flailing on the tiles for something to hold on to. Eventually, he reached for Dean's arms and it was only when Cas' cold hands touched him that Dean's mind slowed to a stop and he started taking in his surroundings again.

Fuck, but the floor was cold under his knees. Probably even colder under Cas' back. He stopped licking and pushed back from Cas. A noise of protest followed him.

Cas was splayed out on the tiles as though it was normal, but he deserved better.

Dean scrambled to his feet, grabbed Cas' shirt with his right hand and pulled the angel up with him. He snagged the pitcher of the chocolate sauce with his left.

"Dean, what—"

"Just let me do this, okay? For one, kitchen tiles are not sexy. Sure, you don't get rug-burn, but your ass freezes." He raised his chin when Cas' mouth opened. "No, don't ask me how I know. Just trust me on this one." Cas' mouth snapped shut again. "Also," Dean continued, "I still have hopes of having one of Erin's pies again in the future. Foreplay is fine, but I have too much respect for her to have actual sex in her kitchen. Besides, the idea of—" he trailed off, not ready to finish even the sentence, much less the thought.

Cas dragged his feet suddenly, resisting Dean's pull on his shirt. "Are you having second thoughts, Dean?"

Dean whirled around to face Cas. "What? No!" Fuck, no. To be fair, he hadn't been thinking with his head before, that was more his dick talking, but once he let rational thoughts take over, he still couldn't find a single good reason why they shouldn't do this. Cas was no longer vulnerable as he'd been when he was on his way to becoming human and he'd actively sought out Dean tonight. The way he had done so many times even when no one else was reaching out. Cas had come to be a reassuring constant presence in his mind that was a lot like Sammy, only Sammy— okay, ew.

It also sobered him enough to realise something that should scare the hell out of him, but strangely enough didn't: He wanted this. Not just in a lust-addled state of mind, not just when Cas was sucking his brain out through his tongue and fingertips, but when he was thinking clearly, too. This was Cas, the guy who was with him despite knowing exactly and intimately who Dean was and what he was capable of, who knew all Dean's flaws and shortcomings and who still wanted him. Who wouldn't reject him when he learned the truth because he already knew the truth. Who was ready to stop now should Dean start running again.

Not anymore, Dean decided. It was time to start running toward something good, not from it. "Come on, Cas. No second thoughts. We're going to do this, but not here." He fisted his hand in the front of Cas' shirt. "C'mon. Next room. Benches. Padding. We can lie down. Believe me, it's better if you can lie down." Dean pulled harder and Cas obliged, making Dean wonder if Cas had seen his thoughts.

They stumbled through the darkened restaurant to a booth in the corner, a nice big one with wide benches that gave when Dean pushed Cas onto them. The streetlight from outside gave just enough light that Dean could make out Cas' pale skin against the dark leather. Dean set the jug with the chocolate sauce on the table and leaned over Cas, just looking at him for a while, watching his chest rise and fall. Looking at a face he knew as well as Sam's by now, relearning Cas' intimate, focused stare. He took in Cas' smell, the familiarity of his presence that soothed something in his mind that had been uneasy ever since the averted apocalypse.

"Dean," Cas said and it was a question as well as a statement, an apology and an invitation.

Dean looked away from Cas' face, gaze dropping to the rivulet of chocolate sauce on his chest. He pushed at Cas' shoulder, careful but insistent, motioning for Cas to lie back. He slid his knee between Cas' legs, amazed at how easily Cas made room for him, how his thighs framed Dean's leg perfectly. Dean's kneecap met Cas' erection and they both fought a groan. This time, however, Dean didn't start licking at the sauce. He kissed a path to the left and right of it, lingering on both of Cas' aureolas for a few blinks of an eye, listening to Cas' breath hitch. When Dean reached the end of the chocolate trail, he drew back and rested his fingertip in the sticky sauce, drawing in it, lost in the feel and smell and nearness of Cas.

"Dean," Cas said after a while and Dean realised that he'd been drawing on Cas' sternum – not just circles, but a perfect infinity symbol.

"Six months is a damn long time, Cas."

"I explained," Cas said, his voice neutral.

"I know. That's not the point. I guess—" Dean exhaled, because, wow, this wasn't what he normally did, this wasn't something he ever did, but he needed to say it. Just once. Better here in the semi-darkness where Cas couldn't fully see his face. "I guess I just got used to having you around." And this had to be enough, damn it, Dean couldn't say that even with Sam back and safe, he still hadn't been fully at peace because there was still something missing, something that didn't allow him to fully settle back into the life he knew. Because the life he had known for the past two years had always, in one way or the other, involved Cas. Dean shook his head and pressed his face against Cas' ribcage, listening to the heartbeat that was so weirdly human and yet inhumanly strong. He was, for the first time in a long time, perfectly at peace.

Cas didn't reply in words. He just lifted his hand to Dean's head and cupped the back of it. Slid his thumb behind Dean's ear and brushed the skin underneath, gently, hypnotically.

Dean leaned forward, fully intending to kiss Cas and get them going again, but as Cas kept stroking the back of his neck, he just went still with his forehead on Cas’ shoulder instead. He was still hard, his jeans uncomfortably tight, but something froze him and sent a weird shudder up his spine.

There was something here, something he didn’t expect and couldn’t control. He’d thought he knew where they were going – mostly he’d thought this would be long over by now -- but somewhere they’d gone wildly off any map. The slow touching, the focus on one taste after the other, built such heavy pleasure that Dean began to think he should struggle free somehow. He didn’t know how to deal with this, not with Cas’ quiet mapping of his body or his own heart triple timing it in his chest.

He still hadn’t moved when Cas pulled up one leg, tilted his thigh into Dean’s side and wrapped it around him more fully. Dean felt his belly brush against Cas’, one shirt-tail still trapped between them.

He’d meant to imprint Cas with sex and food, make him feel so good he’d forget Heaven and his purpose there, but that wasn’t how it was going at all. Cas touched him like he knew every plane and stretch of Dean’s body already and still wanted to come back for him, taking his time relearning him.

Cas dragged his thumb along Dean’s jawline and Dean could do nothing but let it happen.

He started rubbing his erection against Cas’ thigh, stopped only to open his fly and skin down his jeans before settling back down, bracing his weight on his arms and rocking into Cas’ leg. He closed his eyes but he could feel Cas’ hand settle on his hip, palm warm and sweaty. Dean moaned and felt that same hand clench, fingertips digging into the curve of his ass.

The pressure of Cas’ grip wrecked Dean’s rhythm and he pumped his hips faster, stumbling into jagged thrusts until Cas arched his back to meet him and he was gone, spurting come inside his boxer-shorts.

He was gasping for breath, his cock still twitching when Cas set a hand to his shoulder and shoved, pushing him back until Dean knelt on the couch. Cas followed in a rush, wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him close, his breath humid against Dean’s collarbone. They shifted around, awkward and fast, Dean failing to coordinate his hands and legs, but somehow they managed to open Cas’ pants, push down his underwear enough so Dean could wrap his hand around Cas’ cock. For a moment, he marvelled at the feel of the smooth, hot skin branding his palm, at the way Cas was panting through clenched teeth. Then Dean moved his hand, gave Cas' cock an experimental pull and Cas tensed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. One more slow drag of Dean’s palm and Cas choked off a noise, fumbling for the bench’s backrest.

Dean let go, spit into his palm, reached down and closed his fist around Cas again, going for long, firm strokes before he picked up a quick rhythm. There was nothing refined about it but Dean couldn’t do anything more, scattered and wrecked by his own orgasm and the sight of Cas’ face just then, such open want and bliss and you just didn’t carry your emotion into the open like that.

Something constricted around Dean’s heart, as if it hadn’t been twisted enough tonight.

Hoping he would hold Cas up somehow, Dean looped his arm around Cas’ back, spread one hand between his shoulder-blades while jerking Cas’ off with the other. At the end, Cas clutched the bench in a white-knuckled grip and held on to Dean’s shoulder just as hard.

When Cas came with a moan, Dean dropped his forehead to Cas’ shoulder, breathing in the scent of sex instead of chocolate and strawberries. He almost laughed but couldn’t catch enough breath for even a little sound. It didn’t help that it felt like he’d come apart at the seams and was only just now tied in one piece again.

Which seemed to be Cas’ specialty.

With a sigh, Dean dropped against the backrest, his forehead brushing Cas’ arm. Cas sank down too while leaning into Dean and placed a kiss on his nape.

“You could have told me that you wanted me to stay,” Cas said softly and this time, Dean did chuckle.

"And miss out on the food porn?" He snorted, felt his breath gust over Cas' skin and Cas' corresponding shiver. "Dude." He waited for his breathing to even out and busied himself with stroking Cas' flank in the meantime. Hundreds of jumbled thoughts ran through his head. Yet all of them were drowned out by the very simple statement Cas had made: Dean only had to ask. Cas would have stayed if Dean would have asked.

There was such a depth of trust there, such a willingness to give if only the right question was asked that Dean couldn't do anything but pull Cas closer, close enough to make breathing problematic and just hold on. He wanted nothing else in this moment, nothing but to feel Cas close, to listen to his heartbeat and smell his skin, breathe in his nearness. Cas seemed to feel the same and nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean's neck, slowly gliding his hands over Dean's back as though he could do it forever and never grow tired of it. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, until the light of a passing car brought Dean back to reality.

"If we stay like this for much longer," he said and pressed a kiss to Cas' shoulder, "we won't be able to separate. Won't that be embarrassing when Erin comes back?"

Cas gave an inelegant snort and pulled back a little. "Human sex is messy."

"Yeah. So is chocolate sauce."

Dean's gaze swept by the pitcher with the chocolate sauce on the table next to them. By the looks of it, it had almost solidified again. Huh. He was distracted again by Cas bending down and giving the strip of chocolate sauce now also smeared on Dean's chest an experimental lick. One that shot a curl of fresh want straight through him, and, oh, okay, and also, _hell_ , no. He wasn't young enough for that anymore.

"Cas?"

"You still taste good," Cas hummed against his collarbone.

Dean fought a groan. "You'll be the death of me." He let his head drop against the backrest of the booth. Cas nuzzled up his neck. "Can't… " Dean's voice gave out, throat too dry. He swallowed. "Not that I don't appreciate the pizzazz, but can't we at least move this to somewhere with a little more privacy?"

"You wish to stop?" Cas' teeth grazed the side of his neck. There was regret in Cas' voice. It probably served Dean right to hook up with someone who was a lightning-quick study as well as apparently insatiable and completely unfamiliar with the concept of privacy.

"Yes," Dean groaned. "No! Damn it, Cas!" He pushed at Cas' shoulder and held him at arm's length, breathing hard. "We're doing this again," he said. _And again and again and again._ "But not here. I might be a little kinky, but I'm not exhibitionist enough to want my naked ass discovered by Erin or the cleaning lady in the morning."

Cas moved his hand from Dean's back to his ass, squeezing, saying quite clearly what he thought of the idea of Dean's naked ass.

Dean twitched. "I've created a monster, haven't I?"

Cas frowned at him. "I don't—"

Dean laughed. "Never mind." He shifted a little farther away from Cas, making Cas' hand slip from his ass. "Come on, nymphet. Let's get out of here."

They dressed slowly, hands and lips getting distracted by the sight of chocolate sauce on skin, but they did finally manage to get at least Cas dressed again. Dean had to return to the kitchen to retrieve his shirt.

His gaze skimmed the fridge as he pulled the shirt over his head and he stopped, looking at the stainless steel door thoughtfully. There was still pie in there, wasn't there? Come to think of it, he really hadn't had all that much to eat apart from that one slice of pie and the bite of chocolate cake before the whole thing with Cas had started… Would Erin really notice if one more thing went missing in the whole mess?

He was just in the middle of plotting the great escape with two pies in hand when Cas walked up to him and said, “Take the chocolate cake, too.”

Dean looked from the pies to the chocolate mud cake and the crumbs that surrounded the plate. Well, they had already started in on the cake – no sense leaving it behind. “We should bring something for Sam,” Dean said out loud, already wondering how he could scare up a bag or two.

“Definitely,” Cas agreed, completely dead-pan.

So they opened the fridge again, lifting out the latticed blueberry pie along with the artfully shaped almond brittle and laid it all out on the counter. The chocolate-stained, cream-smeared counter with the toppled trifle glass and the squashed strawberries. “Erin will go on the warpath over this,” Dean predicted.

 

“Perhaps we should leave a message,” Cas suggested.

Dean raised a brow. “What, like an apology?”

“Yes.”

“Somehow I doubt that will calm the waves.” It would be pouring gasoline into the fire, more like, Dean thought. Looking around the kitchen he considered their options. Clean up or clear out. Shit. He'd spent the last four years trying to do the right thing… he didn't succeed most of the time, but that wasn't the point. After all the apocalyptic-angel-demon-family-issue crap they'd been going through, he was entitled a little slack. Just his humble opinion.

On the other hand… pies. These were really fantastic pies. And if they played their cards right here, they'd end up with free – really fantastic, really awesomely fantastic – pies for the rest of their lives.

Dean weighed his options: A fuck-it-all attitude and freedom? Versus cleaning up and receiving free pies? Just slacking off and leaving with the stolen pies? Versus cleaning up a frigging huge mess and getting really, really fantastic pies? For free? For the rest of his life?

The thing with the devil and the angel perched on his shoulders went suddenly in a really weird direction when he imagined Lucifer on his left and Cas on his right shoulder.  Miniature versions of them. He bet Cas would pull on his earlobe to get his attention.

Dean fought a grin and looked at Cas when the epiphany hit him. Of course! There had to be some perks to being newly promoted favourite child of God, right?

"Hey, uhm, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Just exactly what can you do, now that you're Cas 3.0?"

Cas frowned. "I can do many things."

"Like zap from place to place."

"Naturally."

"And heal."

"Yes."

"Can you bring order to chaos?"

"Dean, if you would like me to clean up this place, I'm going to say—"

"Yes?"

"Not exactly the answer I'd had in mind," Cas said, his voice tinged with amusement.

"Cas, I'm not asking for me or for Erin. She asked us here, we told her it could get messy, and it did. Big deal. Normally, I would have left. But this is a matter of pie and death!" He looked at Cas imploringly. "You do understand the importance of pie now, right?"

Cas nodded. "I do."

"Then you will understand that this is our chance to get free pies for the rest of our lives?"

"I doubt Erin will live long enough to—"

"Shut up. The rest of Erin's life. You know what I mean. Pie!" He looked at Cas and waited.

“You want me to clean up this kitchen,” Cas asked.

“Yeah, come on,” Dean said. “We can collect some points on our karma charts.”

“Wrong religion,” Cas said, deadpan. He started to roll up his sleeves. "But all right." Dean still waited for him to presto their mess into non-existence when Cas began to scoop strawberries back into the bowl. With his hands.

Dean watched him fish a few strawberries out of the sink before he asked, “Wouldn’t it go faster if you used your mojo? You know, snap your fingers or something.”

Cas stopped hunting errant fruit and stared at the wall. He might have counted to ten, he had that look. At length he said, very slowly, “The Heavenly power is not for cleaning kitchens.”

Dean tilted his head sideways and crossed his arms over his chest. “You mean you can’t do it.”

“We don’t waste our Grace on mundane tasks.”

“You _can’t_.”

“Dean,” Cas said, using the name as a synonym for ‘shut up’. He plunked the bowl of strawberries on the counter and glared at Dean. “Are you going to help?”

“Sure, honey,” Dean replied with a put upon sigh. “Work, work ,work. You know, if the pie weren’t so good… ” He let the sentence trail off, looking around for a cleaning cloth.

“The sex was good, too,” Cas added in a matter-of-fact voice and picked up the overturned glass pitcher.

For a moment, Dean was glad he hadn't been drinking. There would have been an inevitable mess. So instead, Dean grinned, spotted some sponges and threw them into the sink. “Got to agree with you there,” he said and turned on the tap. “Hey, you know the lyrics to ‘A Spoonful of Sugar’?”

***

When it became clear that this wasn't going to be either fast or easy, Dean decided to call Sam about half an hour into their cleaning.

"So," Sam answered the phone with a decided smirk to his voice, "how was the _food_?"

"Excellent, bitch," Dean answered with a straight face. "We're just getting ready for dessert."

"Thank you for the TMI, Dean. Did you really need to call me to scar me for life?"

"Aww, Sammy, you know what it is they say, If you can't take the heat… "

"I'm not IN the damn kitchen!"

"No, but you should be."

"This conversation is going to weird places, Dean."

Dean did a small double-take, then grinned. "Always with the innuendo, that little brother. You'd think he's getting none."

"Very funny."

"Seriously, though, Sam. This pie looks awesome."

"There's pie left? In all this mess?"

"An entire fridge full," Dean confirmed. "One of them's Mississippi mud." He dug his fork into the nearest pie, his eyes almost rolling back in pleasure as he chewed. Cas' gaze on him was heavy-lidded. Dean saw his fingers twitch toward him and felt a corresponding twitch in his cock.

"Dean?"

Oh, right, Sam was still on the phone. Dean swallowed and closed his eyes so he couldn't see Cas' distracting figure any longer. "I should say, there was pie left."

"Come on, Dean. You'll bring me some, right?" Sam sounded hopeful

"I don't know," Dean said, opening his eyes, his gaze zeroing in on Cas' mouth, suddenly very close to him. "We might get hungry… "

An outraged huff. "Dude, family, here. Bring me some pie!"

"There may not be any left."

"Dean!"

"I guess you'll just have to get your ass over here before it's all gone." Dean paused. "Though, at the rate Cas is going through these, there might not be any left by the time you get here."

Cas pulled back and gave him a withering glare.

"Hey, don't touch those pies!"

Dean stabbed his fork into the pie again, chewed noisily.

"Dean?"

"Really good stuff, right, Cas?"

" _Dean_!"

"See ya, Sammy," Dean said around a mouthful of pie before he hung up. He swallowed, then grinned. "We should have help in about fifteen minutes." He set the fork side and pulled on Cas' tie to get him closer. "How about we use the time wisely?"

***

"Dude," Sam said when he arrived and Dean greeted him with a dishcloth and a bucket. "I hate you."

Dean just laughed. And laughed some more.

Together, they were done with the kitchen before dawn. They ate pies at sunrise at the shore of Dickinson Lake and for once, Dean didn't mind Cas zapping them. For the first time in a while, everything felt just too damn right. Pie, Cas, Sam, more pie. What was there to complain about?

They were down to the last three slices of blueberry pie when Sam suddenly frowned. “Hey Cas,” he asked. “Where’s your tie?”

***

Erin went back to her restaurant at six in the morning, figuring she would need the day to clean up the mess the Winchesters had left behind. She’d already called all of her staff back for cleaning duty. None of them were happy about that, but Erin told them in no uncertain terms how much she didn’t care.

She’d vented most of last night’s anger, though. Seeing the disaster zone that had been her restaurant had blown a few fuses but in the bright light of day Erin knew it could have been worse. She could have dealt with flying frying pans and step-dancing _panna cotta_ for the rest of her life. A messed up kitchen was a crisis she could deal with.

When she walked into the _French Laundry’s_ kitchen from the back, however, she had to stop and blink twice. There was no trace of last night’s chaos, no strawberries squished on the floor tiles, no chocolate sauce dripping from the counter. For a moment she wondered if she’d dreamed it all, but then she walked further into the kitchen and saw the dirty dishrags piled in the dustbin.

So the Winchesters had cleaned up after themselves? That was a surprise.

Erin shook her head and smiled. John had taught his boys some manners, one had to give him that. The spoons and pans all hung in the wrong places and the chrome counters weren’t quite as spotless as Erin liked but at least they had made an effort.

On one of the fridges Erin also found a note: _Poltergeists are history. So are the pies. Sorry_.

Erin snorted. She remembered her guests running from the volley of flying chocolate cherries and thought that in light of recent events, maybe a few pies were adequate payment for services well rendered.

She pulled a clean apron from one of the drawers, strapped it round her waist and set to polishing the counters. She’d just begun to scrub one of the sinks when she noticed a strip of black cloth peeking out from under the hearth. Bending low, she picked up the thing and held it into the light.

It turned out to be a tie.

 

 _end_  
\----- _\---------------_  
04/10/10 __

Beta by **auburnnothenna**


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